The Masks Some Girls Wear
by Lady Eponine Black
Summary: She's a 17 year old girl who thought she knew everything; who she was and where she stood and what she would be. She's Andrea Deveraux, and she is from a society where perfection is idealized and unhappiness is for the less fortunate. She was the perfect girl in a perfect world that suddenly wasn't so perfect - until she realized that it never had been to start with.
1. Chapter 1

There is misfortune and unhappiness everywhere. That was never denied, at least not to ourselves. It was others who we denied it to. Our sisters, our parents, our lovers, society. We were the perfect family in a perfect society on a prefect, idyllic island. The girls in our family went off to fancy boarding schools and rode beribboned ponies and caked their faces with masks of makeup. They spoke fluent French and married wonderful men and had beautiful children and were happy. The women of our society had long since learned to hide behind lipstick and fancy dresses and cultured accents. It was easier that way. We learned to reach for the big things, because we knew it was the so-called 'simple' ones that were impossible. We were perfect, because to be less than that was to be unhappy. And we could not be unhappy, could we? How, with everything we wanted at our fingertips, could we ever yearn for anything else, ever feel sadness it the marrow of our bones, ever cry anything except diamond tears, put on for show? We were the grand-homme, we were flawless. We were the top notch of society. The poor, black-skinned, ignorant, filthy peasants were allowed to be unhappy. They, at least, has good reason. We didn't. We were happy. Everything was fine.

I was five, a little pig-tailed girl with flashing grey eyes and creamy skin and a pink dress who was couldn't understand why mommy and daddy acted so different at the public events we attended. I was a seven year old who wasn't allowed to cry. I was a ten year old who learned how to hide behind makeup because who you really were wasn't good enough. I was the girl with the perfectly maintained beauty and the perfect family and the perfect fiancé who everybody looked up to and admired. I was a twelve year old who knew that nothing is perfect, the thirteen year old who realized that it was easier to rely on things, not people, because they were less likely to desert you. A jeweled comb cannot judge, and I lived in a world of judgment and class and rank. I was the fifteen year old belle of the ball with a long dress and coppery skin, on the arm of a handsome statue. I was a sixteen year old who still couldn't understand, but played her part anyway, flashed her lofty smile and tossed her perfect hair; the most beautiful girl in the room. I knew my way around society, and I learned, in time, not to think to deeply. I was a seventeen year old girl who thought she knew everything, who thought she knew who she was and where she stood and what she would be.

She was wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

I stand in front of the mirror and see a tall, perfectly poised girl reflected back at me; stoic and haughty and beautiful, her hair swept up on her head and held in place by diamond pins and a spray that smells of exotic flowers. She is wearing a long silvery green dress and pearls that shine like little moons, and she is the most beautiful girl in the city. I see a girl with guarded eyes like slabs of rain, and smooth hands that wave at the admiring lower class, shooing them away if they venture too close. I see stunning perfection, but if I blink, and squint my eyes, I can also see fear, and a certain type of sadness. I see a seventeen year old girl who about to enter her engagement party with her head held high and her insecurities hidden behind a well-built wall, the bricks piled on steadily for almost 12 years now. I blink again, and all I see is stunning perfection. Perfection is perfect as long as you don't look beyond it to anything else.

Daniel is waiting for me just outside the door. Daniel, my soon-to-be-officially betrothed, although technically we have been promised since we were children. He smiles at me in the way of a man who likes what he sees. I know that I am beautiful, and I know that I am rich, but briefly, I wonder what it would be like to be loved for my personality. But if that were the case, which personality would that be? I am so many people, so many ideals, so many met expectations, that I am more a reflection of society than a person. No. It is better this way. Better to be engaged to this handsome boy who barely knows me. And I am not saying that I don't care for Daniel, I would be lying if I said I didn't. He is handsome and clever, with his eyes like the sea that have the ability to charm you with a blink of his long lashes. Daniel has charmed many girls before me, of that there is no question. He is arrogant and slightly wild, moving from one woman to another. He likes the exotic. But I keep in my heart the old idea that a wild man will find a home with a solid, good, woman. I know it is silly, but I like the idea of being somebody's rock, their one safe harbor. Of being needed. Where I live, men always stray but they never stray far. Love is second to social standing, as anybody who knows the story of Daniels ancestors will tell you. But I know that Daniel is as smothered by our society as I am, as stifled. He is like me. The only difference is that I would not change it for the world.

"Andrea. Vous regardez ce soir merveilleux."

"Merci Daniel. Sont-ils prêts à nous maintenant?"

"Oui. Êtes-vous prêt à aller dans, la fiancée de la mine?"

"Je suis, je vous remercie." I nod my assent and place my white-gloved hand on top of his rough one.

We walk gracefully into the high-ceilinged chamber, just another loveless match on their way to a white dress and a perfect family. At least, what passes for perfect on this island of wild contradictions.


End file.
